


Quick Bites: A Collection

by WerepuppyBlack



Category: Young Dracula
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/F, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-05
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 02:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 20,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerepuppyBlack/pseuds/WerepuppyBlack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Young Dracula one-shots set in and around the time period of series 3. Many ships, genres, an styles to be found within.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tutor

**Author's Note:**

> Tutor: Set just after episode 2. Bertrand marks his territory.

"So, you've finally chosen a tutor?" The Count sweeped into the main room, cape swishing around his feet. Erin looked up from her seat. Ingrid was still sleeping off the effects of Renfield's last potion, so didn't react, something Vlad was glad of.

"He's trained for this job, Dad," Vlad responded.

"For 400 hundred years," Bertrand added, making his way into the room. Erin jumped, and Vlad rolled his eyes. "I suggest, Vladimir, that we begin the training." Bertrand looked at Vlad seriously. "The sooner your training begins, the better." The Count gave a smirk.

"He's keen. Excelllent, just what you need!" The Count clapped his hands, giving a bellowing laugh. "Good luck with the training, Vladdy, I'll bring you back someone nice to eat." He flitted from the room. Erin looked across at Vlad nervously.

"He meant some _thing_  nice, right?"

"No." Vlad's response was tinged with annoyance.

" _Vladimir._ " Bertrand pressed, sounding harranged. "We really must get started."

"Alright, I'm coming," Vlad gave Erin a tight smile. He walked to the training room. There was a moment after Vlad left the room, where Bertrand turned, and simply  _looked_  at Erin.

"It would be wise, half-fang, if you do not look to him all the time," he said. "The Chosen One has more important things to do than to teach a fledging abandoned by their Sire." There was an undercurrent of ... something in Bertrand's voice, that Erin couldn't place. He glanced at Ingrid, before giving one last harsh look at Erin, flitting from the room.

Erin stared, twisting to look at Ingrid. Still asleep. She turned back to look at the door.

"...What?"


	2. Old Fiends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set just after the end of the events of episode 3, but before the events of episode 4, assuming that there was at least a week between the two. The return of some old - familiar - OCs. Credit to their original creator who kindly allows me use of them. Enjoy! No real warnings, except for language.

The Count had opted to return to Translyvania as quickly as he could. He didn't want to have to deal with the young Wolfie, and besides which, Racalud still was after a proper apology – he had only been there for an hour or two when Vlad called him home in the first place. Between them, Ingrid and Vlad had managed to get Wolfie sleeping, and Renfield was under strict orders to look after their young brother. All in all, considering the panic and chaos that Magda usually left in her wake, this time, it felt rather anti-climaxtic. It was no wonder that Ingrid started looking for things for them to do.

"Oh, look at that, the local shopping centre doesn't close until eight. Sun sets about four," Ingrid grinned. "Don't you just love winter? We'll be going shopping." Vlad gave a look.

"Thought you hated going into shopping centres?" he said. "They 'stink of breather' or something like that." Ingrid rolled her eyes, and glared up at him.

"I do, but I'm growing sick of this place. Don't tell me you're a goody two fangs again," there was a challenge in her tone, and Vlad wasn't going to rise to it. He wasn't. "Anyway, I want to get some new nail polish and other things. I'm not exactly going to trust Renfield now, am I?"

"So... we're going shopping?" Erin put in, sounding confused by the prospect. "Vampires shop?"

"I know, I'm naturally fabulous," Ingrid smirked over at her, then cast a critical look in Vlad's direction, "but too many of us need serious help. You'll be coming Breather Lover," she said, her tone making it clear 'no' was never an option.

"I don't think it's wise that Vladimir neglect his training schedule," Bertrand looked over and interjected. "The Regent said-"

"Dad didn't leave any orders," Vlad cut in quickly. "And I can't let Ingrid and Erin go about on their own, Erin doesn't have her powers yet, and Ingrid's still recovering," he gave a shrug with a barely concealed smirk. "I have to do the responsible thing. You don't need to come. You can stay here," there was a pause, "with Renfield." Bertrand looked at the three younger vampires.

"Perhaps visiting this shopping centre would be a good test of your self-discipline."

xXx

Richard Price, Andrew Davies and Tommo Watson were your average Stokely teens, inclined to follow whatever the current trend was. The current trend leant towards an alternative leaning and they had followed it to this poxy place to see some obscure band who were shit really, but seemed to have a huge female fanbase and Price was convicned it was an easy way to cop off. The gig wasn't due to start for a couple of hours, so they had opted to visit a local shopping centre to pig out at the food court.

Of course, they also used it as a warm up for chatting up all the girls. They looked the business, in their opinion, decked out in skinny jeans, plaid shirts, and there were even hints of vaugely teased hair. Oddly, none of them seemed to recognise the hyprocrisy in the fact that say, 3, maybe 4 years okay they would kick the shit of out anyone they spotted in similar garb. This was probably due to the fact that it was now cool. A good memory, where cool was concerned, was unforgiveable really.

"Alright there, darlin'?" Price grinned in what he was sure was a winning manner. The "darlin'" in question looked at him, before turning to mutter something and then burst into loud laughter with her friends. Price scowled. Tommo gave a deep laugh.

"Another one bites the dust," he mocked. Davies laughed at this, ducking slightly at Price threw cold fries at them both. "Gettin' blue balls there, mate? Sure Davies'll help you with that." This earned a very colourful hand gesture from Price, and Davies swearing loudly at him.

"Just these slags ain't got no taste, innit?" Price sniffed, looking round as if to say of course that must be the answer. "So used to batty boys, they don't know what to do when they see a real man." Tommo snorted, and Davies wisely refrained from commenting on this. Only Tommo got away with insulting Price, anyway.

"Just gotta find the right one, mate," he said, giving a nod and taking a drink from what was left of his coke. Price gave him a look, rolling his eyes and turning back to scan the surrounding area for any likely choices.

Unsurprisingly, one appeared. Blonde, reasonably attractive, and more importantly: alone. Price smirked. "Here we go then," he said to the other two. He stood, and swaggered over to her, giving that winning grin once more. "Alright sweetheart?" he said, "lookin' lonely, want some company?"

The girl – who was much prettier now he was close enough to se her face, Price noted – gave a tight smile. "I'm fine, thanks," she said, moving to look in the shop window. Price didn't move though. The smile grew a little tighter. "Do you mind? I don't have long, and I need to get stuff done."

"I can help you get stuff done," he leered, leaning in. "Thing like you shouldn't be on her own, not when there's so many big bads about," he grinned again at her, seeing a softening look on her face. "Don't worry, sweetheart, you stick with me, I'll see you right." The girl wasn't looking at him anymore, instead she was looking over his shoulder.

"Erin?" A voice – a male voice – asked. "You alright"?

Oh, goddammit. Of course the blonde – Erin, nice name that – would be here with someone. Price turned, and saw who it was. He frowned, and a cruel, mocking look quickly appeared on his face. "Well, well, if it ain't _Vladdo the Saddo_

 _"Vlad?" Erin questioned softly, looking at the three boys, then over to him._

 _"It's fine," he replied. "Ingrid told me to come get you, something about better looking scarves?" He gave a shrug, but a small light came n in Erin's eyes. She was probably still self conscious about the scars, he realised belatedly. "She's in that shop over there. I'll be fine," he added, giving a reassuring smile. Erin glaned warily – or was that a worried expression – at the three boys._

 _' _He's going to slaughter them_ ,' she thought, walking over to the shop. She'll get this done quickly,and then make sure she's there to stake him if he does._

"Long time, Price," Vlad said, shoving his hands into his pockets, and looking at the taller boy. He always was taller than him, and it irritated Vlad slightly to see that hadn't changed. "How's Stokley?"

"Better now you're out of it," Price snarled back. "Even weirdo Branagh was glad to see the back of you," he added in a snort. There wasn't a flicker on Vlad's face, but inside he was screaming in fury. Which wasn't really the wisest thing to do when you're meant to be practising telepathy. From his spot in the bookshop, lookinng through a history text, Bertrand frowned.

xXx

"Thought you wos dead," Davies, looking Vlad over with a well worn frown. Vlad rolled his eyes.

"Rumours of my demise have been long exaggerated," he said dryly. This drew blank look from all three, and Vlad bit back the sigh he wanted to issue. "I'm alive. We just … moved."

"We worked that out," Tommo rolled his owneyes, before narrowing them menacingly at Vlad. He noded in the direction that Erin had left in. "She with you then, batty boy?" He sneered, clearly doubting it. Vlad pulled himself up to his full height, and deliberately let his eyes darken a little.

"What does it matter to you?" he asked. The three ignored the basic warning signs, the slight chill running down their spines. They only saw _Vladdo the Saddo_ , and here he was trying to make himself a big man, thinking he could take them. It wasn't for happening.

"Listen here you little ga-"

"Vlad." Bertrand stepped over, his gaze unblinking as always. The three other boys paused, looking. He looked at them silently, before turning to look at Vlad. "We need to return home, your sister grows ... agitated," he said, looking at him. There were sniggers from the boys behind him.

Vlad's eyes darkened further, and they shut up rapidly.

"I'll be there, Bertrand, tell her I'll join her in a moment," he said. Bertrand nodded, and went to inform the girls. There was a silence. "Tommo?"

"What?"

"Tell Robin..." he stopped, not sure how to word it. Tommo looked at him, eyes still narrowed, but gave a nod.

"Got it, Count." Vlad nodded, and turned to leave. Davies and Price both waited until the freak was out of sight before turning questioningly to Tommo. He glared at them. "We going to this soddin' gig or what?"


	3. One Number Stored On the Phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vlad has a mobile phone, and there's only one number on it. No set timeline for this, but I suppose you could set it between episodes 3 and 4 of the current series.

Vlad has a mobile phone. It's an outdated model, at least three years old by now, but it works for what he wants it for. It's not like he uses it often anyway, and there's only one number stored in it. But it's _his_ mobile phone, and that's the important thing. To him anyway.

On one of the rare nights he uses it, it's always the same routine. He closes his door, and pulls the phone out of its hiding spot – the best place he could find so Ingrid, or Dad, or Wolfie, or, hell, even Bertrand wouldn't find it. He sits on his sofa, and switches it on, before scrolling to the contacts. The one name is highlighted and his finger hovers over the call button. After a moment's indecision, it's pressed, and the phone goes up to his ear, waiting for the person on the other side to pick up.

"Hullo?"

"...Hey, Robin."

"Vlad!"

And for a short while, Vlad isn't the Chosen One. He doesn't have some grand destiny awaiting him. He's just Vlad Count, talking with his best friend about everything and anything. Robin's got a girlfriend now – her name's Leila, she's into The Horrors and old-style Gothic novels and she has a tongue piercing - and the news hurts but it's not as life-stoppingly painful as it once might have been. Well, perhaps it is a little. Ian's off at college and Paul's working down at the local youth centre. Chloe's been put forward for doing her exams a year early and is looking into courses that focus on child psychology. Stokley is slowly recovering – Robin went up to the castle and tried to salvage anything he could – but it's all so mundanely normal and that hurts. Robin misses him without saying so. He's been hanging around with Jonno but lately the other boy has gotten strange. Robin asks if he's ever coming back.

Vlad doesn't have an answer.

The call ends the way they always do; with a promise to try to meet up soon; saying that he'll call more often. They both know the words are just words, there can't be any real meaning behind them. Not anymore. He stares at the phone when the call is over, silent, feeling the loneliness he had been try too ignore more acutely. After a short period of time, by which he's managed to hide the phone again, the door opens softly, and Bertrand comes in.

Bertrand's an odd factor in Vlad's new life. He's his tutor, and his servant, and a possible friend. Every rule about their society forbids it. He's a servant. He can't be anything more than that and Vlad's aware that he's really only looking because he can't have Robiin in his life anymore. But … Bertrand didn't leave when Magda told him to. Every rule says he should have, every rule says he should be more distant than he is.

Vlad's realised long ago that the rules can go hang themselves when it comes to him.


	4. Kismet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a tiny little line in episode five. Outright Bertrand/Vlad

Vlad was fascinated by history. It was the only class in the brea- normal school he didn't mind having to attend. Studying for exams though? Yeah, that was a bit of a drag. Well, more than a bit but he didn't actually want to admit that bit. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy what he had to read, no, the material was interesting enough. But trying to remember all the different dates, and little details they would want for the exam as well as keeping up with the coursework, not to mention his own private training? It was no wonder he had roped Bertrand into helping him out.

Luckily, when it came to history, Bertrand was more than willing to help. He had visited the more interesting battlefields that had occurred in the past 400 years. Vlad's topic of study was the battle of Trafalgar, and the death of Nelson.

"So, it was the 23rd..."

"21st," Bertrand cut in, looking at Vlad as he concentrated on the words in front of him. Really, this wasn't anything for the _Chosen One_ to be doing. They should be training, preparing for his destiny.

"Oh, right, 23rd," Vlad smiled gratefully up at him, and it took much for Bertrand not to smile back. That was another thing. He had no sense of what was considered 'proper' within the vampire society. Or, rather, he did, but willfully ignored it to do as he wished. His familiarity with the half-fang was a ridiculously good example of this. Not to mention the way that he treated Bertrand like a friend. He wasn't Vlad's friend. He was his tutor, his servant, but never his friend. He shouldn't be treated as if he were important, he was simply one more person for Vlad to step on to get to the top and...

And if Vlad would just learn to use telepathy, he wouldn't have spent every day of the past week having the most confusing snatches of dreams and thoughts and feelings that should the Grand High Council discover them, he would be meeting the dawn. He stared at the bowed head, not quite hearing what Vlad was saying, lost in the confusing thoughts that had gathered. It wasn't meant to be like this. The Chosen One wasn't meant to be so... friendly. He wasn't meant to be so… likeable. Oh, he knew he was getting into dangerous terriority when he heard the Chosen One was a Dracula, everyone knew about the charm they had.

But this... he hadn't expected this odd pang in his chest. This pulling sensation. There was something affecting him and he wasn't sure what it was. Bertrand wasn't really in the position of being unsure of anything. He was cool, he was collected, he kept what he thought in his head and never came out with anything embarassing like... "Kiss me."

"What?" Vlad looked round, frowning. "Those were his last words? Kiss me?" Bertrand could have kicked himself.

"Yes," he replied evenly. "Though no breather history will tell you that. It's far too... different for them."

"Oh," Vlad said, picking up his pen to scribble at the notes. Bertrand bit his tongue

No. This wouldn't do. Not at all.

"Thanks, Bertrand."

Well, maybe a little.


	5. Nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone reads this chapter, I would like to make it very clear: I do like the Vlad/Erin ship. That being said, I also enjoy reading alternative takes on the canon that don't actually seem all that implausible and that what this particular little drabble is meant to be an attempt at. Read, review, and love to you all

They can't really bring themselves to call each other boyfriend and girlfriend. It's not _dating_ , not really. They hold hands, and they kiss clumsily, but there's not as much behind it as either would like. Oh, they like each other, truly and deeply, and they really are the best of friends. But... it's not _dating_ , but they try.

He dreams about her, but he's 17. He dreams about anyone halfway pretty who catches his eyes. It makes for awkward art lessons, and tense training sessions and he wishes that cold showers really had some sort of effect of vampires other than just making them colder. She's nothing like any other girl he knows, she doesn't care about his title, about who he is, and she isn't trying to hunt him down and kill him dead – he thinks, anyway. He likes her, he really does. She thinks he's nice, and she enjoys his company, and the way he never really pushes anything on anybody. But she's still having nightmares of him in his more vampiric wear, ripping out her throat and laughing. She likes him, she does, but she can see her Grandmother sharpening the stake and telling her duty always comes first.

It's not dating, but they really do like each other. They hold hands, and they kiss clumsily, but it can't be dating. It's just... what it is.

But for now? It's nice. And they both need a little nice in their lives.


	6. Vampire and Slayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure where this came from, except perhaps an interest in how ... layered Vlad and Jonno both are, and how family motivates them both. I don't know, I could give a poetic reason, but I'm not sure it'd be entirely true. Enjoy this either way!

"How did you beat the mind-wipe?" Jonno's head shot up, looking around the silent warehouse. He stepped forward. "Well, it's a simple enough question, and I'm curious. I'll probably be dust by dawn, so there's no harm in telling me." Jonno rounded the corner, seeing Vlad sitting on top of a pile of boxes. Boxes that happened to contain Slayer's weapons, but there was no need to make the vampire aware of that. "Well?" Vlad asked again, eyebrows raised in polite questioning. He didn't look like a vampire, not a proper one. Leather jacket, and jeans, and a t-shirt, he look more like a wanna-be Goth than a vampire. Jonno rolled his shoulders, reaffirming what he knew to be true in his mind: Vlad was the Chosen One, a vampire.

"It was after Dad was  _killed_  because of you." he spat at Vlad's feet, "the Guild came and … what are you even doing here? I could stake you where you sit!"

"You won't." Vlad's answer was quiet. "The Guild came and..." he prompted. Jonno glared.

"The Guild came and they've been working on reserving vampire created mind-wipes for years," he smirked up at the boy, whose face didn't flicker, didn't betray any thought. "Too many vampires who've thought they'd be able to out-smart the Guild that way, so the Guild worked out a way to reserve it." There was a beat, before he shrugged. That was the only answer he had for him. Vlad nodded.

"Did it hurt?"

What do you care?" Jonno snarled. There was a pause.

"I never meant to get your Dad killed, Jonno," Vlad's voice was soft. "I just... I thought if I made you all forget..."

"Yeah, that's the thing with you vampires," Jonno gave a scornful laugh, "you think you know everything there is to know about every thing. And you don't." There was a brief moment, where a painful laugh came out. "You're going to tell me you thought you were doing the kind thing. And that's crap. There's not enough human in you to understand what 'kind' is,  _Chosen One_." There was silence, and Jonno's hand move to his side, clasping reassuring around the wood of his stake.

"Maybe you're right." Vlad answered. He stood, and readjusted his jacket slightly. Jonno couldn't help the snort of laughter. The last time he'd seen the move, they'd both been in Stokely Grammar, and Vlad had just had a full bottle of some sticky drink thrown over him. The vampire – always 'the vampire', don't give them a name, don't give them something that makes them a person – looked up, his lip quirking, giving a careful nod to Jonno. "For what it's worth, I am sorry."

"Vampires don't feel sorry," Jonno shot back, hardness in his tone.

"Vampires don't," Vlad agreed. "I do."


	7. Unspoken Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's an unspoken curse about the Dracula clan. Everyone seems to need therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a gift fic for a friend, this is set directly after episode 11, but before episode 12

Sometimes, Vlad is very aware of just how much he and his sister are in need of some serious therapy sessions. He can see it sometimes, the grief she's not letting herself feel, the anger that she screams out, breaking everything that even dares to come into her eyeline. He wonders, sometimes, if the anger is better, if his own method of trying to ignore and push back those types of thoughts is doing more harm. Granted, this wonder comes more often after he is taken over by his reflections. No, not taken over. Taken over makes it seem like he had no control. Give in, that's the better explanation for it. He _gave in_ to the evil.

Well, he was going to do it sooner or later.

Actually, it's not long after his return that Vlad realises everyone who seems to come in contact with the Dracula family ends up needing therapy. Erin... Erin lied, and deceived and tricked him for so long, maybe she's more callous, more _evil_ than any vampire could be. To come and to be his friend, no, more than his 'friend' but secretly plotting to slay his entire family. At you could expect it from Ingrid; it was normal in most vampire families. Really, he muses, that it didn't start till she turned 16 says a lot for the strength of their sibling relationship. But really, there's only two people who seemed to have escaped this unspoken curse of the Dracula clan: Miss McCauley and Bertrand, and the latter Vlad strongly suspects has a whole pile of his own issues.

Miss McCauley is one of the more normal breathers Vlad's ever met. Except she's more than normal, really, she's competent. He's got a feeling that if Dad ever decides to tell her he's a vampire, she'll either be offended at the thought that she had to be told, or that she'll already know, and really why didn't they think to tell her earlier, it's not as though she would go running to find a slayer, such prejudices are frowned upon at Garside Grange. Dad could do worse, Vlad thinks, then remembers his mother with a grimace and realises his Father started out pretty badly anyway. He likes her, though, and he wishes he could find the right words to apologise for all he did when he gave in.

When he gave in... Bertrand was the only safe one, he realises with a jolt. It's jarring really. The tutor he still doesn't really trust, the one he warned he would likely attack first, he was the one that was safe from his... uninhibited self. He still doesn't trust Bertrand, Vlad's sure of that, but he supposes there's a sort of respect there. Maybe. Vlad's not sure if he actually understands respect, or trust for that matter. There's just something there that means he knows – for whatever value its worth – that for now, he's safe around this man who he really knows nothing about.

… Maybe he shouldn't have turned down those session with Ms Van Helsing back at Stokely after all.


	8. Guide to Spotting Vampires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! This one was greatly inspired by the "Guide to Spotting Vampires" video on the Young Dracula bbc website.

"Oh, come on Vlad! It'll be brilliant," Robin leant over the table, grinning widely. "Look, I got this new camera – digital – and my channel's getting loads of subscribers!" His enthusiasm didn't seem to be working, as Vlad looked across, eyebrow raised just slightly. "Oh, come on, we hardly hang out anymore. You won't regret it." He waved the script in front of Vlad's face. Vlad sighed, and grabbed it out of Robin's hand, reading through it silently for the moment.

"A guide to spotting vampires?" he questioned.

"Well, I do a lot of horror based stuff," Robin explained. "Hammer Horror reviews, look over Gothic novels, black comedy sketches," there was a shrug, "you know. Cool stuff." There was a pause, as he grinned. "My biggest hit was this Twilight deconstruction video where I -"

"Why do you want me to do the guide to spotting vampires, Robin?" Vlad asked, rubbing at his forehead slightly. Robin gave a look. "Besides the obvious – I can't believe the memory wipe just wore off," he added, his tone incredulous. Robin rolled his eyes.

"It took me all of five minutes to work it out in the first place, Vlad," he dead panned. "And I think it'd be an added layer of, what-sis, irony! An actual vampire, making a comedy video for the internet about how to spot vampire?" Robin grinned. "It's genius!" There was a pause. "Plus my own attempts at creating a vampire character are a lot more monsterous. You really work the nice, friendly neighbour vampire trope that will make the video a success."

Vlad stared. "I'm sure there was a compliment in there somewhere." He groaned and lay his head on the table. "Fine, I'll do the video."

Robin's grin grew triumphant. "I'll get your cape!"


	9. In A Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complete and utter AU that refused to leave me alone.

Vlad's first day of university has him wondering what the hell he's doing in this place, and wondering why he chose to come to this uni of all places. He worries, and frets, and wonders if he shouldn't have gone with Robin's idea of just working for a year - but thats when he remembers that he didn't want to do that because he likes learning, and he was looking forward to this. 

Finding the library helps, and Ingrid's texts changing between mocking and off-hand comments help to ease his nerves. She's meeting up with her friends, and will likely show up later on to check out his room and make sure he's alright, without making it obvious that's what she's doing. That's fine though, he doesn't mind that. 

(There's a text from Erin lying unread. Yeah, she was nothing but supportive when he did come out, but it's still kind of hard for both of them considering everything.)

What helps the most? While he's in the library, trying to memorise the layout before getting any coursework, Vlad spots one of the most gorgeous guys he's ever seen. Tall, dark curly hair, and just the right amount of stubble. 

(Who said that shallowness wasn't helpful?)

\- - - - - 

Last year of the post-graduate study, and Bertrand was glad to see it end. He enjoyed the study, he hated the having to run tutor groups for unappreciative undergrads, who felt like that world was theirs after one fairly decently worded argument. If he got through this year, he would have his so very important post-grad degree and would be able to go and get a proper job.

Which would probably be private tutoring because the job market was not in a great place, as his daily searches kept showing him. 

He bit back the sigh, as he browsed the shelves of the campus library, wondering if there was any book here he hadn't already read, or one that he could re-read to help with his thesis. Or was it dissertation? 

You know it had gotten to a bad point in your academic career when you couldn't even remember what it was you called the big long essay you had to do. 

The searching proved useless and he turned the corner, bumping into another student, who dropped their books. "Sorry," he barely muttered, reacting automatically and stooping to pick them up. 

"No, it's my fault," the boy said, scrambling around to gather more books than Bertrand could. "I wasn't looking where I was going and it's just all a bit new and --" oh god, a Fresher. 

"That's really interesting," Bertrand picked up the last of the books, "Now if you don't mind, I have-" he looked up. The boy - couldn't be older than 19 - had really blue eyes, and Bertrand was just only minimally staring before catching himself. "-to go. I need to go." 

"Uh," Vlad panicked. It had taken a lot to convince himself to go and talk to the attractive stranger in the library and now he was leaving. "Do you maybe ..."he stumbled over his words, "that is ... can I buy you a drink? For the help?" 

Bertrand paused, and considered. On the basic level, money was tight, and having a drink bought for helping out with picking up books, well the boy had to have some money to spare.

"I'll be in the union about 8," he said finally

Vlad grinned. "I'll see you there, then?" 

A ghost of a smile was on Bertrand's face. "Maybe."


	10. Childhood Experiments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, this fits in as a sort of prequel type preface to my other fic 'Crazier Than You', but since it's only a short little piece unlikely to be added too, I opted for adding it here rather than anywhere else. I do hope you enjoy!

"You realise we'll prob'ly need to get married after this," Vlad said, his hands fretting at the edges of his cape. Wednesday looked back.

"You realise I'll probably have to kill you after that," she responded, eyebrow arching just slightly. Ingrid grinned, and leant in.

"Hurry up, you two, the blood chose you," she reminded them, "are you going to disagree with the flow of the blood?" There was a serious nature to her tone, all superiority and filled with knowledge that the seven year old Vlad and Wednesday couldn't know yet.

"Gotta 'bey the blood," Vlad nodded, and stood straight. He looked at Wednesday, and gulped. The two leant in.

Ingrid couldn't help but laugh.

"Look, mon cher, the children are fond of each other!"

"Tish, that's French!"

Vlad and Wednesday jumped apart. "You're far too warm," Wednesday said. Vlad touched his bottom lip.

"... Thought I was supposed to do the biting?"


	11. A Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another sort that's inspired by Crazier Than You

It was generally accepted amongst those in the know that if you happened to be lucky enough to get a date with a member of the Addams family, you did everything you could to make it go as to their expectation of perfect as you could. After all, you had managed to land a date with an Addams.

Vlad didn't really go with that line of thinking. "A tour of torture weapons used in old prisons?" he read the leaflet with distaste, an eyebrow raising in Wednesday's direction. Her face remained emotionless, and Vlad rolled his eyes, stuffing the paper into his pocket. "Fine. Would prefer the cinema, but you're the boss."

"Glad you remembered," Wednesday commented, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him forward. "They said they'd let us try the Iron Maiden," she said. Vlad sighed.

"Wed, we need to talk about keeping the kinky stuff in the bedroom."


	12. Anniversary and Alchemy

It was the anniversay, Vlad was aware of it as soon as he awoke in his coffin. He lay still for a few minutes, staring at the dark underside of the coffin lid, before eventually sighing. It had been four years, there wasn't much he could do about it now. He made his way down to Ingrid's room, and knocked on the door.

"Go away, worm breath!"

He sighed, and opened the door. Ingrid was sitting beside her coffin, hands idly playing with a locket with a large black stone in it. She looked up at Vlad before looking back down at the ligh patterns the stone was making. "I told you to go away."

"Just wanted to see how you're doing," Vlad said, stepping into the room. "It's ..." he stopped at the sharp look Ingrid shot him. "Yeah," he finished awkwardly, looking around as if would give him more reason to be there. Ingrid was still focused on the stone.

"I wanted to avenge him," she said, "I thought if I left you for dead, it would be a good start." There was a hollowness in her tone, that made Vlad's unbeating heart stop deader than usual for a moment. He had never thought to... but then you wouldn't, would you? "Instead it just," whatever Ingrid was going to say got caught in her throat. Her hand clasped tightly around the stone and she looked up. "What do you want, Vlad?"

Vlad kept looking at the stone. Ingrid had been wearing it ever since he found her after Stokley Castle was burnt to the ground. It seemed to be her favourite, she kept transferring it to different pieces of jewellery. He looked at it.

"What?" Ingrid snapped.

"Remember when I was 13?" Vlad said suddenly. "Dad was pushing me to get into alchemy?"

"How could I forget?" Ingrid folded her arms over her chest. "Just another attempt of his to prove how special his precious little Vladdy was," she scoffed, shaking her head in annoyance at the memory. Then she paused, her gaze turning on him once more. "What's your point, Vlad?"

"I was kind of crap at normal alchemy," Vlad admitted with a small laugh, "couldn't get my head around it." He paused. "But dark alchemy? I was good at that." Ingrid continued to look. "In particular... breathers call it necromancy." There was a silence.

"Vlad, you can't mean..."

"I've read up on it," he cut through whatever Ingrid was going to say. "It's a little bit more difficult than doing it wiith a regular breather, but it's possible." He paused. "I just ... I need his ashes."

Ingrid's silence was one of the longest Vlad had ever experienced. He closed his eyes, awaiting her rant. When it didn't come, he opened them again.

She had given him over the black stone.


	13. What If Vlad Had Always Been Female?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first I think what is needed is to explain the concept of this chapter. This is ... a sketch chapter of sorts, a preview if you like. And you can blame Young Dracula Files for it's creation. See, in the second episode, they had Bertrand wonder if his job would have been easier if the Chosen One was female. This lead to a discussion with Hope Coppice about what would change. Behind the Name showed that the feminine form of 'Vladimir' was 'Vladimira' thus you have me trying a personal challenge of trying to create an AU where Vlad was always female, while keeping to the tone of the show's canon. It's been an interesting experiment, and here are the parts I am willing to share. If people like, I will likely post more. Oh, and Eoin is, as you may have guessed, a male!Erin. That gender change was due to the fact that canonically, Vlad only shows interest in heterosexual relationships, thus Mira must follow suit. Okay, I think I've rambled enough. Read, and please tell me what you think. Jim Grant is used with permission from Hope Coppice.

**S3 Ep 3 - "Faustain Slip"**

"The ward agrees to forfeit all powers against her Regent," Magda smiled winningly, confident from her perch on the throne. "You did sign the contract, darling," she reminded her youngest. Mira bristled, and her head turned, though her eyes remained focused on her mother.

"Bertrand!" Without a word, he stood ready to comply with Mira's unspoken request but Magda's eyes narrowed.

"No," she said slowly, eyeing Bertrand with something akin to distaste in her eyes, "no, I don't think so. This ..." she paused deliberately, letting her eyes gaze over the male vampire. The sneer in her voice when she spoke the next word was pointed, but at what Mira couldn't work out. "... _tutor_  isn't right, Mira dear." Mira frowned, glancing between her tutor and her mother, uncomprehending. A power play was clearly happening but... it wasn't her versus her mother, which it should have been. Shouldn't it? Bertrand remained quiet. "Leave." He left.

"Mum!" Mira glared, before running out into the hall after him. "Bertrand, please, wait!" She called at she left the room, running down the corridor to catch up with his long stride. "You have to help me," she begged, "please."

Bertrand stopped mid corridor and his shoulders tensed. "I'm sorry, Mira," he said, "but I must obey the Regent's orders." He turned to look at her and there was ... unexplained in his tone. Mira stepped forward, and opened her mouth to argue her case once more, but Bertrand shook his head. "I'm sorry, but good luck." He turned and left.

"Yeah," Mira sighed, shaking her own head and slumping against the wall. "Luck."

* * *

**S3 Ep 5 - "Carpathian Feast"**

Mira struggled with the locker door, the lock simply refusing to move, and the girls kept giggling. "Now the freak thinks she's strong." No, she wouldn't bite them, breathers were not to be bitten. Maybe giving them a little scare wouldn't be too out of place...

An arm stretched over her, and the girls faces turned from scathing to flirtatious within a second. That should have been the clue, really, but Mira was too pleased at the fact that they had stopped giggling. The arm opened the locker door, and Mira turned round to see Bertrand, an eyebrow raised at her just slightly. He gestured his head down the corridor, and she walked besides him, his hand on her shoulder as he guided her.

"I don't get it," she moaned, covering her face with both hands. "Last night, I could dump Dad in his pants, and now..." she sighed, and gestured back to the locker pathetically, "I can't even open a locker door."

She could hear the smirk in Bertrand's voice without even having to glance up at his face. "Being angry made you focus. It concentrated your powers." He turned to look at her. "Control that, and you'll be able to open the Book." Somehow, she had figured as much. Mira's shoulder's slumped slightly.

"So," she guessed, "I need to do more training?" Bertrand didn't answer.

"Have you seen your Father today?"

Mira grimaced, and have a gave shrug. "Think he's avoiding me."

"Last night gave him a glimpse of the future." At the top of the corridor, Bertrand turned to face Mira, head tilted slightly to give better eye contact. Mira kept the contact intently. "He has to feel valued and relevant," he said carefully. "He has to feel he's needed or he'll go on a killing spree, and bring the slayers down on us." Mira's eyes flickered to the side, and Bertrand replaced a hand on her shoulder, trying to get the importance of his words across. "Until you open the Book, you won't be ready to lead us against them." The other hand touched the other shoulder. "We need more  _time_."

Mira studied his face, before nodding eventually. She could see his point, regardless of her own thoughts on it. Besides which, she didn't want her Father to hate her. Bertrand clapped her shoulder and turned to leave.

"Ah, Bertrand," the voice of Jim Grant caught him from the door. "Mind if I have a word?" He frowned, and stepped into the classroom. "Now, I understand it might be a little different than your used to, but... young Mira?"

"What about her?" Bertrand's voice was cautious, Jim noted, but there was an edge to it.

"It's just..." Jim paused. "You're young, lad, and I know these girls aren't..." On Bertrand's glare he trailed off. "They're impressionable, is all I'm saying. You just might want to ... watch how  _close_  you are with her."

Bertrand stared.

* * *

**S3 Ep 8 - "Bad Mira"**

The power coursing through her was unbelievable. She could do anything she wanted. She was Vladimira Dracula, and no one could stop her. Alex McCauley could try, but Mira laughed. Silly little breather, thinking her words had the power. Only she had the power, and right now it was focused on the headmistress, freezing her in place

"Mira," she whirled round

"Oh," she said, a slow smirk appearing. "Eoin." The breather boy stood tall at the end of the corridor. "I've been looking for you." Fear flickered across his face. As Mira started forward, she saw him fumble in his pockets, and his bag, pulling out a ruler which he held up like a weapon.

"Get back," Eoin threatened, "or I'll-"

"Stake me?" Mira's voice was filled with amusement. "Or smack me with the ruler?" Eoin's cheeks flushed with colourt. She snapped her fingers and the ruler dropped to the ground. "I know your secret," Mira said, leaning in towards him, "breather."

"Mira," Eoin barely managed to gasp out her name. " _Please_."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Really?" Mira was bored. "Is that the best you can do?" She leant in towards the neck, before hissing in pain.

Eoin was only aware of the world moving again when he felt his heart beat restarting, and Miss McCauley was asking him to tidy up the corridor. What was going on with Mira?

**xXx**

"So it's true," Ingrid's smile was catlike. "You actually have gone bad. Chucked out of Home Economics. What's next?" The smile grew mocking. "Not handing in your History assignment?" Mira glared at her sister. "Have you ever  _actually_  bitten anyone?"

"Don't ... push me," Mira warned, fangs exposed. The sisters glared. Ingrid's smirk fell. Mira walked off

"You're stil the same old puny little Mira who can't stand the sight of blood!" Ingrid called after her.

Mira just smirked.

**xXx**

Mira stood at the easel, carefully bringing the charcol across the page to add lines to her masterpiece. When it was finished ... it was going to stop their hearts. "I think what you're doings great," her Father's voice reached her ears, but she didn't pause. "The chaos, violence, wanton destruction," he did sound pleased, " _although_..." And there it was. The dissapointment, as always. "There's an inspector in school today.

"Oh good," she said, "another breather to bite." Her Father gave a soft chuckle.

"No, seriously, can you give it a rest until tomorrow morning?" Her Father tried to hide his amusement. "I think we owe it to Miss McCauley."

"Ah, the ... delicious Miss McCauley," Mira's smirk grew on seeing her Father's discomfort of her using his voice.

"You leave Miss McCauley alone!"

Mira laughed. "And why would I listen to you,  _Daddy_?" she asked, innocent smirk on her face. His face twitched, and he faltered, before finding an argument.

"Until you're 18, I'm in the one in charge!" Mira rolled her eyes, rollin her wrist gracefully to have the palm of her hand facing outwards. As she lifted her hand up, her Father lifted to roof, head laying on the ceiling, neck bent as the rest of him was flattened against the wall. "Mira!" He called in a paniced tone. "Mira, dear, I just think we need to be more sensible!"

"We?" Mira gritted her teeth. "There is no we." She looked up at her Father, eyes dark. "Alright?"

Her Father faltered yet again. "Well," he managed finally. "What a wonderful view it is up here." Mira scoffed, and dropped her hand. She heard the thud as her Father fell to the floor. The smirk, of course, grew wide.


	14. The Issue of Breathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after 4x01

Bertrand's gaze didn't shift from the dusty old tome he was reading when Vlad came into his room, throwing himself over the coffin in the corner, and giving a loud groan. Turning the page slowly, he spoke to his moaning student. "I take it you and Erin have had another disagreement."

"Now, she thinks she  _wants_  to be turned," Vlad's groan was muffled, but still audible fortunately. He sighed, and pushing himself up, turning so he was siting on top of the coffin, looking at Bertrand. "I don't get it, she knows that I don't care about the breather thing-"

"But she does," Bertrand looked at Vlad with an expression that made Vlad think he as missing out on something ridiculously obvious. "Breathers like the romance behind the idea dating a vampire," he explained, "but when it coms to the reality, knowing that your partner won't age can be ... daunting." There was silence.

"Is that sympathy you're expressing there?" Vlad smirk.

Bertrand's look grew dry.

"Of course not," he returned to his book, "I think you're both idiots for thinking you have a chance of making it work." Turning a page he continued, "the whole venture is doomed to failure."

Rolling his eyes, Vlad pushed himself off the coffin. "No need to be _jealous_ , Bertrand," he teased, leaving the room. Bertrand watched him go.

"Is that what I am?" he muttered, turning another page. "Interesting."


	15. Forever Love

****Vlad doesn't believe in a love that lasts forever. How can he? He's never seen an example of 'love' lasting more than a couple of centuries at best and even then he's convinced it's more of a mutual lust that lasts just as long as people want it to. Love is a really nice word, and yeah, he's pretty sure it actually exists and all. But he's not that hopeless of a romantic. (He thinks he must be a bit of one to see the ceasefire actually working.) He knows that love lasts for however long it does, and then it leaves.

He doesn't get why his Dad and his sister are convinced he thinks that he and Erin will last forever. He really doesn't get why Ingrid thinks it – she grew up in the same house as him, she heard the same arguments, the same death threats, and avoiding the same flying keepsakes as he did. He knows she hid under the table the same way he did those times when it seemed like this time they might actually turn each other to dust. Maybe she's the romantic of the family; always that smll part of her hope Mum will come back. Vlad's just wondering when he'll hear about her splitting up with Patrick for good.

He likes Erin, he really does. But he's 17. He not going to spend the time deluding himself that they'll still be together in a few years. His practical joke of a life has shown him to know a whole lot better than that. He just hopes that this time it won't end with him wiping the memory and going into hiding. Once was really enough, when it comes to losing a good friend that way. He's being pragmatic, that's the word he's looking for. When he turns 18, it'll all be different. He won't have time to be Vlad; he'll be too busy being the Grand High Vampire.

But still, he likes her. And she likes him. For now, for now that's enough.


	16. Apology

He was on his knees before him. "I beg forgiveness," his head bowed respectfully. "I was... arrogant, and headstrong and while I know I have no right to it..."

"Bertrand." He fell silent. "Bertrand, will you look up at me." He looked up. Vlad knelt so he was level with the older vampire. "I get it," his voice was soft, and gentle, and Bertrand forced himself to keep gazes with him.

"I ... am sorry," the words slipped out, with all the sincerity he felt and still he wished he could put more in the words.

"I know." Vlad touched his cheek. "You've said." A kiss. "Be forgiven."


	17. Illness

There was a particularly nasty flu bug persistently making the rounds of Garside Grange, and it seemed as though everyone was prey to it. Students, staff, even the student teachers who were only really there for little less than a month arrived perfectly healthy, but left sniffing, and sneezing, and coughing into the crooks of their arms. It had become the norm to see people wandering round with scarves up over their faces, and a box of tissues tucked under an arm.

Vlad had never really gotten sick before, at least, not that he could remember anyway. That wasn't to say he'd never had the occasional sniffle when he was really young, because he can distinctly remember Krone's insistent on the old fashion remember of bat gut and worm snot – and he tries to not think too hard about that. It was just that he'd never really had any sort of illness that would actually be considered as being sick. Needless to say, it came as quite a surprise to him when he starting sneezing during Art class, to say nothing of the fact he was also shivering and sweating.

"Vlad, are you alright?" Miss McCauley had asked after the fifth sneeze in a row. Vlad nodded, picking up his pencil, and wiping his forehead with the back of his free hand. He blinked down at the paper, trying to get his eyes to focus on the still life piece that had been set up at the front of class. Miss McCauley didn't look convinced at his nod, but Vlad didn't particularly care. It was the last class of the day. He could go to his coffin and sleep after this.

Except no he couldn't. Bertrand had him in the training room the minute he stepped foot into their private quarters. "Vertical flying," he had said before Vlad could even sit down his bag. He must have pulled a face. "You did say you felt you needed more practice," the tutor added in a compliant tone. Of course, he was just following orders, Vlad had told him, and so Bertrand must do. That's how it worked, after all.

Vlad sighed. "Yeah, sure." He waved his hand in the direction of the training room. "Shall we get to it then?" Bertrand looked at him for a moment, before nodding, stepping to the side to allow Vlad to walk past. Erin, who had been in a different class from Vlad during the last period, frowned from her seat at the table. She tilted her head in his direction, eyes narrowing as she studied him slightly

"Vlad, are you oka-"

"I'm fine," Vlad answered quickly, giving her a smile. "I'm fine, Erin, no need to worry about me. Training room, is it?" He left.

Bertrand and Erin were not natural allies. But they both exchanged the same look: he was lying to them. Maybe not about anything major, but it rankled them both that Vlad felt the need to lie. Erin because she had really thought they had gotten past that stage, and Bertrand because the lies would likely impede his ability to best serve the Chosen One. He followed Vlad quickly, making a note to keep a closer eye on him. He seemed unusually waxen that night, and while being incredibly pale was considered normal for a vampire, it did not usually include glassy eyes and a smell of perspiration.

Getting the training session started was easily enough done. Vlad was unusually attentive, a further sign that something was wrong. "So I just," he paused, muffling a cough, and swallowing dryly. "I mean, it's just about concentration, yeah?" Bertrand nodded, and Vlad gave himself a shake. "Right," he muttered, "I can do this. Vertical flying, it's easy." He took an unnecessary breath, and closed his eyes. He shook his arms slightly, holding them out to he sides, his hands laid flat as if he had placed them on top of something. "Just... concentrate."

"Let the feeling flow through you," Bertrand circled Vlad, keeping a watchful eye. "Gravity is under your command, it does your bidding." Perhaps he was a bit flowery about it all, but it did help to get the point across. Slowly, and with a great deal of wobble, Vlad rose. He kept his eyes closed, muttering to himself under his breath as he slowly continued to rise. Bertrand kept a close eye, and it was only because of this that he was able to act so quickly.

Vlad shuddered. And that did not begin to describe just how odd the action was. It was a full body shudder, as though he had been shocked by something, and his fingers twitched. Then it was as though whatever force had been hauling him upwards had broken. He began to fall to the ground, and by the looks of his waxen face, he had not the energy to stop himself becoming a vampire pancake on the floor. Luckily, then, that Bertrand was there, and able to grab him before any serious injury happened.

It was later than evening when he awoke in his own coffin. "Ingrid," Erin's voice echoed in his head slightly, "Ingrid, he's awake!" Awake he might have been, but Vlad felt like life warmed over. His head felt like someone was repeatedly hitting it with a hammer, and when he shifted to sit himself up, he felt a wave of sickness that had him grabbing the open coffin front just to keep himself steady. "Vlad, just .. relax," Erin hovered at the door, constantly glancing up the corridor. Her shoulders relaxed, and Vlad supposed whatever she saw was what she had been waiting for. "Finally."

Ingrid came to stand beside him, handing over a goblet of dark red liquid. "Here, worm breath, drink this and you'll feel better," she instructed him. Vlad didn't argue, taking the goblet and greedily drinking down the contents. Erin instinctively stepped back; she knew Vlad was good, but there was something deeply unsettling about seeing his eyes that bright red, and his fangs extended He handed the goblet back to Ingrid, and promptly fell asleep. From his position in the corridor opposite Erin, Bertrand spoke up.

"Did he drink it?"

"Every last drop," Ingrid replied, inspecting the inside of the goblet. "Hm," she commented lightly, glancing back up at her now sleeping brother. "Didn't even question it. He must be sick."

Erin looked slightly pale as she spoke. "About that," she said nervously, "did it have to be human blood he drank?" Ingrid and Bertrand both gave her the same disbelieving look.

"Of course," Bertrand answered, "how else do you expect him to get better?"


	18. The Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sort of crossover with I Kissed A Vampire

Vlad wasn't really in any sort of position to say that he had many friends within the vampire community. Well, actually, considering how the vast majority of that community was out of touch; within his 'social circle', or at least those deemed rich enough to not be seen as an embarrassment, there weren't actually many vampires relatively near his age. To add to that, the number of vampires that he could spend time with in any way that would lead to a sort of friendship was even smaller. When Vlad did eventually find someone who he might be able to call a friend well, usually it didn't last long due to outside interference.

That's the reason he didn't expect the visitor. How could he, it had to have been at least two years since they last met. Vlad had been on his way in from his afternoon classes, nothing more on his mind than maybe grabbing a nap – he had found the day to have been an unbearably bright one, and it made him quite tired – when he heard the all-too familiar voice. He didn't quite believe his ears.

"S'up, bitch?" Trey Sylvania, the larger than life lover of unlife, grinned toothily over at Vlad. He had taken up position on the throne, lounging over it, his legs dangling almost stylishly over one side. The Count was not pleased, giving the vampire boy a very pointed glare, before turning to his son and heir.

"Would  _his highness_ ," he hissed, "kindly tell his … friend," the Count stumbled over the word. Trey's already wide grin grew wider, becoming an impossibly large, self important smirk. "To remove himself from  _ **my**_  throne?" This last part was directed not at Vlad, but rather directly at Trey, and was capped with a barely concealed growl of anger. Vlad looked at his Dad, and thought better of pointing out that technically it should be his throne because he was no ready for that particular argument yet.

"You'd better move," he said, giving a half shrug as an unspoken explanation. He couldn't quite stop himself staring, though. "How did...?" he began, but instead shook his head, thinking better of it. " _When_  did...?" he started, finding that to be a better question.

"Dude," Trey said simply, rolling his eyes. "That last email you sent me? Yeah, all 'woe, pity me,' and what can I say?" He shrugged. "I got a little bored of all your bitching and whining. You're the bite, man, the  _big bad_. Not some … whining little bitch who hasn't cut his fangs yet." Trey lifted himself up out of the throne with the air of a practised grace. He began to walk over to Vlad, who was beginning to understand why some people used 'swagger' as a description. "So," another shrug from Trey, "I thought I'd come help you regain your awesome. You know," he picked a skull up from the table, turning it over as he examined it. "Help you be the bite."

Vlad looked at his friend, because really it was the only word that fit Trey. "...Your Dad and sister are fighting again, aren't they?" he ventured, raising an eyebrow just slightly. The Count was not paying any attention to the conversation, having taken Trey's departure from it as a chance to quickly reclaim his throne. Trey's shoulders slumped.

"It's that blonde waitress, man," Trey sighed, "she's freaking garlic water." He shook his head again, and pushed his hands deep into his jean pockets. "So... alright if I crash here?" he asked. "I brought Rock Band," Trey quickly added, as if expecting that to seal the deal. Vlad fixed him with a look, before grinning.

"Yeah, 'course you can stay," he said. "I'll have Renfield fix you up a coffin room."

"Now really, Vladimir!" The Count interjected angrily, looking over at both boys with a fierce gaze. Apparently he had tuned back into their conversation. "You can't just invite every waif and stray to stay here!" Both Trey and Vlad just looked at the Count. Trey turned to Vlad.

"So..." he said, "Rock Band?"

Vlad nodded, "Rock Band."


	19. Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a continuation of last chapter, with added True Blood because I am a sucker for making all my vamp fandoms co-exist! ... Set after series 3, episode 8 in the timeline scale of things.

When Vlad left Garside Grange, it wasn't because he didn't know what to do. He had a plan. Well, half a plan. Okay, he was winging it but considering that he was currently internally battling his 1,000 evil reflections, he would have considered 'winging it' to be the very least he could do. Besides which, he did sort of have the maybe the basis of a sort of plan. Well, to be entirely fair, it would probably be better to call it was very sort of rough skeleton sketch, but it could work if he got where he needed to get before the sunrise.

Fangtasia was not somewhere Vlad had ever visited before, but he suspected it would be where he might find a solution to his problem. Hopefully, anyway. If not, well, he could stay there during the day, at least. Fangtasia was a vampire bar masquerading as what breathers thought a vampire bar was and – from what he had heard – was a nice little money spinner for owner Eric Northman. It wasn't exactly Eric that Vlad was here to see anyway, which was entirely his reasoning for sneaking inside, past the intimidating looking bouncer on the door.

On the bar that evening was the new bartender, Trey Sylvania, who looked in to be in his late teens, early 20s at a push. His ID had him at 22, but as to whether that was true or not, well that was something that Trey would never tell. He liked having a bit of mystery about himself. Vlad approached the bar with caution, pushing back the hood of his jacket and nervously smoothing down his hair. He rolled his shoulders forward, and tried to give out the air of being far older than he seemed. "Yeah? What can I get you?" Trey asked, not looking up, and not really paying complete attention.

"Got any soy substitute? O positive, if you can?" Vlad asked carefully, making sure his words would be heard. Clearly, it worked as Trey frowned and looked up to see who it was he was serving. His eyes widened almost comically, and the glass he was holding slipped from his hands, breaking as it hit the floor.

"Holy shi –  _Vlad_?!"

**xXx**

Vlad had first met Trey the summer of his 16th birthday, when the Vampire High Council had thrown him a lavish Coming of Rage party. Vlad had never really understood their reasoning for this, except as maybe some sort of way for people to find out stuff about him without having to resort to the usual whispers, and gossip, and stuff prised from servants. Trey was the grandson of a Council member, and stood to inherit his seat should his elder sister prove like their father and not want the role. By all counts, Trey was actually pretty gifted when it came to the political stuff, though he tended to shrug it off so as to appear humble when attending events with his Grandfather. The way Trey had been described to Vlad, he was expecting to find a pretentious, blood thirsty vampire with an ego.

Well, the ego part had been completely right.

Trey Sylvania was actually a very personable young vampire. He happened to be highly charismatic, and in possession of a very good sense of humour which spread outside of the usual morbid or black humour preferred by vampires. He was also a very modern vampire, with a passion for technology, and apparently had bought enough of Apple's tech to be allowed shares in the company. He claimed to be a little older than Ingrid – though he wouldn't make it clear by how much due to his want of mystery – and despite slight differences in opinion on certain matters, he and Vlad happened to get on reasonably well enough to be able to call each other 'friend'. Of course, he was one of the many telling Vlad for living blood free were stupid and harmful to himself, but he didn't outright insult Vlad about it.

Managing to signal to Eric, and get a quick break, Trey had taken them into the employee room. He stood against the wall, folded his arms, and waited until Vlad explained the whole story. Needless to say, he was shocked. "The Praedictum Impaver?" Trey looked concerned. "But that wasn't meant to get delivered to you until you came of age," he said. "Dammit, I  _knew_  du Fortunesa would convince them otherwise. Slimy bastard," he growled. Vlad rolled his eyes.

"Bertrand's alright really," he said. It was true. "Bit uptight, and all about the duty," he added in a shrug. Trey nodded an agreement, but still didn't look happy about it all. "But that's not the problem. I've got … this psycho version of me trapped inside," Vlad waved his hands sort of usually to try to emphasis his point, "and I need to know how to control him." his tone was strained, and his grip on the chair tightened. He seemed paler, somehow, and Trey nodded again, straightening up.

"Fine, fine, self-control, I'll speak with Eric," he nodded. "Chill, man, you're all Chosen and stuff, you can do this."

"I hope I can," was Vlad's simple response. Trey rolled his eyes.

"Dude, I  _know_  you can."


	20. Opinions

Alex McCauley was a sensible person, thank you very much. She didn't really go in for these silly flighty crushes that most people her age still seemed quite suspect to. She was aware of her growing attraction to Mr. Count, but of course, knew full well that it would be very silly to act on it considering that in an abstract way he was essentially her employer. He was a very charming man, though, and far more personable than the tutor he had gotten for his son.

She would have hoped to never have had to meet Bertrand du Fortunesa's like in her life. He was arrogant, pompous, and filled with the type personal importance that Alex happened to find insufferable in a person. She would have never interacted with him if it were not for the fact he was a history scholar, and dear Ms Maguire had taken off on maternity leave sooner than they had originally thought would be needed. Trapped in a tough position, Mr. Count had kindly suggested Bertrand, and so he was put in place.

It immensely irritated Alex that this arrogant, pompous man happened to be  _exceptionally_  good at the subject he had studied. There was no other way to describe it. The way he spoke to the students about the various historical eras studied within the History courses at Garside, Alex would not have been surprised to hear that Bertrand had been present at them. The students  _listened_ to him, if the results come the practice mocks were any indication.

He really was an irritating man, Alex was absolutely positive about that.

But why did he have to be a bit brilliant with it


	21. Ingrid Knew

Ingrid knew she was immensely attractive, even by the ever changing fickle standards of the boring breathers. She wasn't vain, no, no one could ever claim she was vain, but she knew she was attractive, and she knew how society worked. Even the patriarchal backwards society that being a vampire made her be forced to live in. Ingrid knew that sometimes a smile could do far more than months of careful planning and devious thought would. And sometimes, they worked hand in hand and made it  _so_  much easier for her.

Not that Ramanga could be considered stupid in any way; as far as members of the Vampire High Council stood, he was the very embodiment of enlightenment. But she didn't miss the looks he would shoot her after whispering her plans in his ear. She didn't miss the way his gaze would linger on her as she made to walk away, or how on her walking into a room, he would stand slightly straighter. Ingrid knew she was immensely attractive, after all.

But more than that. She knew she was clever. She knew she was devious.

She  _was_  a Dracula, after all.


	22. First Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a sort of ... set in the same verse as chapter 13! I'll try to find a way to highlight the different verses that might pop up in these stories. I had this idea, and ran with it. I think 'Mira' may make more appearances. Maybe. If she's liked.

Mira's first day at Garside Grange was filled with a lot of little annoyances. You know the kind, the type which build and build until a person feels like screaming until everyone elses ears began to bleed. First of which was the rather simple not being able to check she was wearing the uniform properly due to lack of reflection in the mirror. Still, she did her best, pulling her blouse until it felt like it was sitting right. Zoltan had given as much help as he could, but they both agreed it was a little bit awkward now, asking her pet hellhound for advice on her appearance. Still, at least he was someone willing to help her.

It was awkward, being introduced at the start of class by Miss McCauley - there was a slight shortage of teachers so she was taking Art classes until further notice. Everyone knew she was the daughter of the new governer of the school. It had been the talk of the school for a while, and vampire hearing had made it all too easy to overhear the gossip being spread throughout the building. (Mira was fairly convinced that her Dad had heard some of the comments the older girls made about his attractiveness, but there hadn't been the usual amount of preening. Odd that, but maybe Miss McCauley was a good influence.)

"Everyone," Miss McCauley had said with a wide smile, "this is Vladimira Count."

"Mira," Mira had quickly interjected. "Only my Grandmother calls me Vladimira," not the total truth, but true enough for her to feel okay with saying. Her Dad had gotten better at calling her Mira since finding out she was the Chosen One. It beat daughter number two, at any rate. The students gave the type of weak laughter that was reserved for just wanting to seem polite. Which was better than she had expected, truth be told.

"Mira," Miss McCauley smiled to acknowledge her mistake. "Mira will be joining this form, and yes, you might have heard she's the daughter of the new governor of the school. However," her voice was loud and she looked around the room. "It is a policy here at Garside Grange that all students are treated equally. There are no favourites." Mira wondered if anyone actually believed this. She was glad when she was finally able to take her seat at the back of the room.

She had gotten on with her work quickly, and quietly. Mira's liking of school hadn't changed much since leaving Stokley Grammar, and focusing on the work tended to take her whole concentration, to the point where she was hardly aware of anything or anyone around her.

"Hey."

Mira turned, blinking slightly. The boy to her right - a quick glance at his workbook told her his name was Alex - was smiling at her. He appeared to be quite tall, or at least taller than Mira, which didn't surprise her much as she was still shorter than she would have liked; it had the tendency to make her look younger than she was. He was fairly handsome, if Mira was any judge, though it was in that healthy glow way that breathers did seem to favour. "Um," she glanced around, not quite sure if the soft 'hey' had been directed her way, "hi?"

Alex laughed. It was deep and pleasant sounding, and Mira had the funniest feeling this was the type of boy who found it very easy to attract people. "So, you're the new girl," his smile was wide, open and friendly. "I'm Alex," he held out his hand. Mira didn't mention that she had seen that from his workbook, it would have felt a bit rude. "If you need a hand getting around, or anything, well I'd be happy to help." Mira shook the hand, grinning. She never realised it was this easy to make friends. It hadn't been in Stokley.

Well, except for Ingrid.

In fact, it happened all day. Alex, then Bobby, and James, and James' friends David and Matt. There were a lot of names. She didn't remember the students at Stokely being this friendly. There were a lot of them, actually, if she were the type who was inclined to panic in crowds it would be happening now. Which she wasn't really. Well, mostly wasn't.

Not many girls.

Just like what had happened for Ingrid at first.

"Hey, Mira! Fancy a date?"

Oh...  _bats_.


	23. In Your Room

"You know," Vlad commented idly, picking up a book from the top of one of the many stacks littering the table and flicking through it with little interest. "You really have a lot of stuff." He grimaced at a particularly graphic illustration of a mutilated corpse in the book's pages, and set it down back in its place with haste. "How is it you've got so much stuff?" he asked again, trailing his fingers over any surface they came near, looking around the room with a semi-curious eye.

"A person tends to acquire many items when they spend over 400 years preparing to train and teach the Chosen One," Bertrand barely looked up from the letter he was writing, and the soft scratching of his quill was an oddly calming noise, Vlad thought. "I wasn't aware I had given you an open invitation to my coffin room," Bertrand's tone was careful, as always, but Vlad suspected he was getting to know him far better than he realised, because he could pick up on the slight tinge of annoyance. "Don't you have anything else to be doing?" There was a pause in the quill scratching. "Have you read those chapters I gave you?"

"Almost nearly entirely all of them," Vlad hated being put on the spot about homework. He moved about the room. "Who are you writing to, anyway?" There was no response, but the quill scratching began again, almost deliberately taunting him this time around. Vlad bit back the irritated sigh, and continued his inspection of the many, many items contained in Bertrand's coffin room. "This is all... academic," he said out loud, having unrolled a promising looking scroll to find it containing an old list of Vampire High Council members, and the clans they were allied with.

"Over 400 years preparing to teach and train the Chosen One," Bertrand repeated, sounding almost smug. "Don't tell me we'll need to work on your comprehension skills as well?" Yup, it was definitely smugness in his tone, also a bit of amusement. "I would have thought going to a breather school would have at least meant a rudimentary understanding of the concept." Vlad turned to look at Bertrand over his shoulder, and gave a quick mocking laugh.

"Oh, ha, ha, very funny," Vlad rolled his eyes, making his way over to the cabinet that stood at the far end of the room. This one contained mostly ornamental weapons. Bertrand have explained the majority of the ones here, while having had some usage once upon a time, were now mostly ceremonial. Proper weapons, Bertrand had made sure to enunciate clearly, should not focus on the look, but rather being damn effective at what they were designed for. Don't look for the sword with the flashiest hilt, look for one with dents and marks but that still somehow remained sharp. That was a sword worth having.

In amongst the ceremonial weapons, however, was a picture that Vlad had never seen before. It was old, judging by the black and white tones, but well preserved, and kept in a simple frame. The picture showed two men in regimental uniform, and they wore bright, cheery smiles on their faces. The way they stood suggested that they were trying to cajole whoever it was taking the picture into joining them. So clearly, it had been taken before they went into action, Vlad's mind supplied. "Hey, Bertrand," he asked, picking up the frame to look at the picture more closely. "Who are these two?"

"Who are-?" Bertrand was confused as he turned his head to see what it was that Vlad was talking about, When he did spot the frame in Vlad's hand, he was up out of his chair in a shot. He stood over Vlad, glad momentarily that the Chosen One's relative shortness allowed him to 'tower' over the boy, and took the frame back. "Don't touch what doesn't belong to you, Vladimir Dracula," he intoned, only a slight growl in his voice. Vlad didn't seem impressed.

"Excuse me for trying to find out some more about you," he muttered somewhat viciously. He looked at the ground, and added a shrug. "You're not exactly the type to willingly offer information," he added, "you know a lot about me, I hardly know anything about you." If there was an accusation in the tone, Vlad did his best not to draw to it. Bertrand turned away, replacing the frame carefully in its spot in the cabinet. There was silence, and Vlad shook his head. He turned towards the door and made to leave.

"I knew them," Bertrand said. "Breathers." Vlad stared at his tutor's back in shock. "I fought alongside them during the First World War," Bertrand paused, frowning at unseen images that the picture brought to the forefront of his mind. "They were killed." It wasn't as though it could be said that Bertrand was a particularly emotional being on a good day, but there was something dead about how emotionless his tone was. "They were fine soldiers," Bertrand finished, turning round to meet Vlad's eyes. "They did their duty, and expected nothing for it. A good example."

"I get it," Vlad said softly. He paused at the door. "I'll get you a poppy, for Remembrance Sunday."

"That..." Bertrand began to refuse, but the picture was still visible at the corner of his eye. "Thank you," he said instead.

For the first time in a long while, he meant the words.


	24. Terms of Reference

Bertrand wasn't entirely in favour of Vlad's 'great' plan. He supposed he saw the logic of it, on paper, but when it came down to it, Princess Adze was a smart match. Vlad's having a politically inclined match was going to happen sooner or later, and it was better for his plans if it was to the daughter of his greatest ally on the Vampire High Council. That wasn't to say van Helsing was incorrect though; whether Bertrand liked it or not, a successful relationship between a Slayer and a Vampire would go a great way to proving the effective nature of the truce.

None of this was fair to Adze, and were he a more empathetic creature, he'd protest on her behalf simply because of the unfairness. As it stood, he wasn't surprised that Erin agreed to go along with her; she always was quick to turn if a situation would benefit her most. Yet, he was the one that was always being watched due to his betrayal. It was a good thing Bertrand had long since learnt his rightful place in vampire society. Always at the bottom, trying to make his way up. Still, there was one thing that surprised him.

"You referred to me as 'friend'."

Vlad frowned. "Well, we are, aren't we?" He pulled his leather jacket on. "I'll be back later, I need to calm the Guild," he gave a grimace. "Keep the ferals in the class?"

"Of course," Bertrand bowed his head, as Vlad took off with a whoosh of the surrounding air.

"...Friend."

The word felt odd. He'd need to get used to it.


	25. Father

Malik had grown up fatherless. Had he been a 21st century breather, this wouldn't have been as much of an issue. He wasn't a breather though, he was a vampire of a an old established family and he knew the shame it brought his grandfather that they had no father to place a name too. Even if Malik was everything that a proper vampire should be, bloodthirsty, vicious and cruel. Even if, by all rights and any common sense, a perfect heir to the family title, he was still a bastard of the technical meaning. He was illegitimate, and grew up knowing that.

His mother would never tell him the name of his father; she said that it had been a brief but highly romantic affair and she wanted nothing to sully the memory of that wonderful fleeting time. She would always make reference too him though, constantly telling Malik how he had his father's bearing, his handsome looks, his brutal nature. His father was the perfect vampire, according to his mother, and Malik was every bit the perfect son and heir for him, and he would be so proud if he knew.

The locket was the only clue he had; and it was well thumbed with age. His mother always wore it, and was always touching it,the long chain allowing her to keep it close to her unbeating heart. She had gifted it to him,when he made his plan to travel to England known, saying it would give him guidance when he needed it most. That it would act as his father's approval of his plan to bend the knee to the Chosen One, bequeathing his eternal loyalty. Malik found that oddly made him feel anger towards his father. Whoever he was.

The clue for Garside came later. He already had his group; had somewhere dry and sun-proof to spend the days. He didn't miss his old home, the standards that no matter how much he obviously met he couldn't actually be admitted to have met the. No, the bastard must know his place.

His father was at Garside.

Malik looked forward to finally meeting him.


	26. [AU] Conference

Bertrand wasn't entirely sure exactly why he'd become friends with Jim Grant. Well, if you could call them friends. Work colleagues who got on well enough to spend time in each other's company outside of the working day did tend to fit better. Both taught at the independent day school, Garside Grange, and Bertrand was technically the most junior member of staff, having only been hired by Miss McCauley at the beginning of that particular school year. (He'd yet to meet the school's governor, Mr. Count, but from Jim had told him the man was a bit of an eccentric old money type, and Bertrand thought he was better off not meeting him.)

Jim had convinced him to come out for a drink that weekend. Well, sort of. They had been sent away – at the school's expense – to a conference to learn better ways in which to teach the topic of History to the unwilling students. Bertrand was a bit offended - his students all listened to him - but as Jim pointed out, it tended to be more a case of being seen to want to modernise for these things. If the old methods worked, Jim's experience had taught him, then stick to the old methods. But the conference finished early in the evening, and Jim had seen a club on their way and now Bertrand found himself sipping an only halfway decent beer, trying to understand the words being played over the thumping beat, and also trying to deal with that fact that he kept eyeing up the younger looking boy surrounded by a group of friends at the other end of the bar.

"Never thought you played for that team, Berty old boy," Jim's jovial voice was far louder than Bertrand would have liked, and when Jim clapped his hand on Bertrand's shoulder, the latter wondered how long it had been since his fabled 'rugby days' to have a grip that strong.

"I have no idea what you mean," Bertrand replied carefully, tearing his – with some effort – away from the boy who had captured his attention, and forcing himself to concern himself only with the bottle of beer in front of him. "Just... looking around. Taking in the atmosphere."

Bertrand really should have been paying more attention to what Jim was up to. He had ignored Bertrand, and made his way over to the boy. He tapped his shoulders, and Bertrand could now see them in a hushed conversation, in which Jim kept waving his arm over in his direction, and the boy kept looking up with a shy smile. Could he...? Bertrand hurriedly took a large gulp of the beer, trying to keep himself calm. Nothing was happening. He convinced himself of that until he saw Jim walking back over, the boy happily following in his trail.

"Right then," Jim grinned. "Bertrand this is Vlad, in his last year at the university," he introduced. "Vlad, this is Bertrand, just graduated and in his first teaching job at Garside." He clapped Bertrand on the shoulder once more, shooting him a grin that was far more proud of himself than Bertrand would have ever expected the man to wear. "I'll just leave you two to get to know each other a little better. Go to see a man about a monkey," he announced, pushing his way through the crowd. Bertrand grimaced at Jim's wording, before turning to the boy – Vlad.

"I spotted you when I was with my friends over there," Vlad explained. "Was quite pleased when your friend came over," he gave a shy smile.

"Fancy a drink?" Bertrand asked?

Maybe conferences weren't too bad, after all.


	27. [Mira] The Gaining of a Friend

Bertrand was enlisted to become a substitute History Teacher. It made sense, Mira supposed. He was very knowledgeable about the subject, but she couldn't help but be a little concerned. Just about his self control. That's all. She didn't like the girls giggling when they saw him, and muttering in their whispery gossipy way. She felt ... it was the lack of respect, that was all. That was all that was irritating her.

"Vladimira," his voice reached her in class. She looked up from her idle doodling in her notebook. "Pay attention. This will be on the exam." She winced.

"Yes," she said. "Sorry Bert... sorry, Mr. du Fortunesa," she added, remembering herself in time. Bertrand nodded, turning back to the notes he was writing up on the board. Mira could feel the gaze of other students on her, and she became very glad that she couldn't really blush since coming into her full powers.

Pity the heightened hearing meant she couldn't block out the mutters, though. She could do without some of the accusations. At the end of class, she found herself being approached. "Alright Mira?" Mira blinked.

"Um..."

"It's Becky." Becky was taller than Mira, and very pretty. She was one of the girls who wore their school skirt as short as they dare, and sheer stocking. (Mira rocked the thick black tights look). "Listen, you shouldn't pay attention to what those girls were muttering."

"Oh," Mira bite her bottom lip, glancing back into the classroom. She caught Bertrand's eye, as he placed out the books for his next class. She could tell he was listening. "You heard them."

"Yeah," Becky flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Idiots, the lot of them. He's your tutor, yeah?" Mira nodded. "Well, course you're going to know his name them." She tutted, and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, some girls. Come on, I'll buy you a drink at the vendy."

Surprised, Mira followed.

* * *

The friendship between Mira and Becky developed quickly, with Becky declaring them 'besties' within the space of two weeks. Mira, on her part, found Becky surprisingly easy to talk to, and had managed to give her great information on the Eoin situation. There was always a lot of talking about boys, including teachers or celebs they had crushes on. It was a breather thing.

"What we need is a girl's night, just us two," Becky declared to Mira. "We can have boy chat, and watch movies, and," with a grimace, "study for du Fortunesa's history test," she rolled her eyes, giving a theatrical moan of pain. "Come round mine tomorrow, it's Friday so we won't need to worry about school."

"Yours?" Mira's eyes flickered across the room. "I can't I ..." her voice failed her, words trapped in her throat and refusing to come forth.

"Oh, I forgot, major protective Dad," Becky winced. Mira had found it easier to let her believe that than explaining the actual situation. Becky pursed her llips in thought. "Got it, I'll come round yours."

"Well, uh,"

"Great, that's sorted!" The bell rang. "Can't wait till tomorrow, bestie!"

Mira felt a little out of sorts.

* * *

It wasn't actually that hard to get things sorted for the night. The Count was off to meet an old friend for a bite and a drink - Mira couldn't help but winced inwardly at that. Ingrid was ... well, Mira wasn't sure what Ingrid's plans were but she had her word that she would take Wolfie and wouldn't disturb her big night. (Mira wasn't happy at the mocking tone used, but she knew her sister well enough to take what she could get).

Eoin said he'd keep out of the way, he knew from his own sister how precious 'girl time' was and knew better than to interrupt. Bertrand... well he probably wasn't pleased but he wouldn't interrupt. They'd be in her room anyway, and he didn't come near there when she was in a "state of preparing for slumber".

Which was actually good, Mira realised, once she caught a glimpse of Becky's pajamas. She hadn't realised they could be so ... made out of little fabric, and fingered her soft cotton long pajama trousers nervously.

"Ooh," Becky trilled on seeing the quarters for the first time. "Gothic, so on trend," she assured her. "Gods, you're so lucky, Mira, such a cool place to live," Becky gave one of her typical theatrical shrugs. Mira grinned. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

There was a lot of movie watching, Becky favouring the rom-coms and declaring Legally Blonde a must see. Mra had to admit it was a fun movie, she enjoyed how Elle was able to make it as a lawyer in her own way, regardless of what others thought.

There was also a lot of talking about boys; Becky thought Mira should just "jump Eoin, he clearly fancies you," but that just made Mira bite her lip and laugh nervously. It seemed like every girl had a crush on Bertrand, and that made her feel.. well, a bit awkward. "He is fit, though," Becky pointed out. "Can't blame us." She supposed she couldn't.

Becky excused herself to powder her nose, leaving Mira to watch the rest of Grease on her own - "It's classic! I can't believe you haven't seen it!" It was about half an hour later when Mira realised Becky had been gone for quite a while, and it wasn't as though the bathroom was that far from her room. She frowned, and paused the movie.

Stepping out into the hall, she realised she could hear a noise coming from their library. It was unusual, no one should be in there. Frown growing, she walked towards the room, opening the door slightly, and peering round.

She could see Bertrand, sitting as far back on the couch as he could, arms wide to the side. Becky was kneeling over him, trapping him in position with her body. "No one has to know..." Mira could hear the husky whisper far too easily. "Just our little secret, one magical event..." Not for the first time, she cursed vampiric hearing.

"What's going on?" she pushed the door open further, standing looking confused. Becky's head snapped round, and Bertrand's eyes widened. For a moment, Mira found herself hating how she must look; she suspected it was something like an overgrown child. Long, sensible pajama pants with a bat print she had found fun when she ordered them, and a tank top with a matching pattern. It was something a child would wear.  
She didn't understand why she suddenly hated them so much.

"Mira," Bertrand's voice was choked. "I haven't -"

"Could you give us five minutes, bestie," Becky smiled winningly. "We're just getting to know each other a little better," her tone was filled with reasonable explanation. It made Mira more angry, and she didn't know why.

"Your phone went," Mira said. "It was Dylan." Immediately Becky jumped off of Bertrand. He may be attractive, but Dylan was loaded, as Becky had repeatedly told.

"He said he might call," she squeed happily, racing back to the room. That left Mira and Bertrand in the library alone. Mira shifted awkwardly, folding her arms under her chest. Bertrand's gaze flickered, as he started to look anywhere but at her.

"Mira," Bertrand started again

"I won't tell Dad," she said. "And Becky won't remember; she's been chasing Dylan for months now," she added. His shoulders slumped in relief

"You..." he started, and coughed, moving his gaze deliberately to the side. "You should go to your room, your Father wouldn't like if he knew..." Bertrand's trailing off made Mira very aware of the problem. Her Father would be furious to know he saw her her pajamas, even if they were the least attractive pajamas in the world

"Of course," she said. A small smile appeared on her face. "You didn't bite her."

Bertrand frowned. "Of course not," he said. "You instructed that the students were not to be touched."

"I know," Mira said, "but it was nice. To know you listened." She paused a moment longer. "Good night, Bertrand."

"Good night, Vladimira."


	28. [Mira] That Time with Eoin

Becky had told her that relationships need work. That you had to play a little for the spark to get sparking. Mira didn't pretend to fully understand, but she at least got the gist of it. That's why she invited Eoin to her room that afternoon.

(She'd made sure to clean away anything she wouldn't want him to see; Mr. Cuddles II was hidden in her coffin, which she made sure to place a cloth over to at least disguise it a little)

They had sat and talked for a while, holding hands on her couch. That had turned into Eoin putting a hand shyly on her cheek, leaning in for a chaste kiss. And another. And another one after that.

It had turned into quite long kisses, one after an another and he had carefully slipped his hands under her shirt, looking at her for permission. She bite her lip, nodding slowly, and helped him off. He placed his hand on her back, and she was lying down on the couch, staring at the ceiling as Eoin began kissing her neck. For something to do,

Mira found herself stroking his shoulders, her eyes fluttering closed. Maybe it would be more enjoyable if she focused more on it. In her mind's eye, it wasn't Eoin leaning over her. It wasn't Eoin's lips at her neck, his hands running over her stomach. No, they belong to someone with darker hair. Someone with colder skin that made her own feel like it was on fire as they dragged their fingers over her stomach.

She let out a soft moan, and the kissing intensified, hands moving faster. There was a loud snap, and she frowned, pushing her hands at the person in front of her.

Mira's eyes snapped open she hard the thud. "Dammit, Mira," Eoin gasped, slowly getting to his feet, holding his back, "you really don't know your own strength."

"...You broke my bra."

Somehow it was the only thing she felt safe saying.


	29. Don't Get It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the return of Trey!

"Stakes and garlic, jump the man and get it over with," Trey rolled his eyes, slouching into the training room and looking round with an expression of barely contained boredom. Vlad looked up, still trying to pull off one of the boxing gloves.

"...What?"

"You and Tutor Man," Trey explained. "You could cut the UST with a knife, man. One of you needs to jump the other, and getting laid will probably make you less … edgy all the damn time," he said. He picked up a dagger, tossing it around in his hand.

"What? Bertrand?" Vlad gave a panicked sounding laugh. "I don't fancy Bertrand."

"Yeah," Trey snorted, "and I'm not the Bite." Vlad's expression became dry and Trey set the dagger down, holding up his hands in a placating maner. "Hey, to each his own. The whole tall, dark, and broody thing doesn't quite do it for me, but if that's how you get your kicks..."

"Trey!" Vlad's voice had a note of urgency. "I do not fancy my tutor," he said, a slight strain in his voice. "Even if I did … he's my tutor, my … my valet. It's just, nothing could happen because that would be the best mixture for scandal." Trey stared.

"Fuck it man, that whole vamp hierarchy bullshit again?" He sounded irritated. "Keep the half-fangs and women opressed, yeah, 'cause that ain't outdated and going to get you staked." He folded his arms over the chest. "Fuck 'em, you're the Grand High Vampire, King of all us mere vampires. Do what you like."

"It's not as simple as that," Vlad said quietly. "It's … there's more to it Trey, you're from a promiment half-fang line, you don't know half of the divides that exist. Your family managed to get pass it and, all that's just … " He trailed off, not sure how to finish. Trey was quiet for a moment, taking this in.

"I still think it's bullshit," he said. "And the sooner you jump B's bones, the better."


	30. End of Term

It was the end of term and Jim Grant had offered to just let the classes pile into his room for a video. Well, that had been the plan, at the moment, the kids were just sitting and listening to music on the radio. Some played cards, some read, others chatted. All in all, it was pretty peaceful.

Vlad sat chatting idly to Erin, head bopping slightly in time to the music as he took a sip from his flask. The song on the radio changed, becoming an older song that Vlad recognized from a CD Ingrid had played non stop back in Stokely. He hummed along quietly, Erin grinning at the song herself.  
"Love this one," she said. Vlad grinned, and nodded.

The music somehow got louder when Bertrand walked into the room. Vlad watched as he spoke to Jim, taking the offer of a bottle of water from him. He watched him break open the lid, and raise the bottle to his mouth, drinking from it.

There was something about the way his throat moved...

_"Take a bottle, shake it up, break the bubble, break it up ... pour some sugar on me..."_

"Vlad?"

"Huh," he gave herself a little shake, turning to Erin. "Hm?"

"You alright, Vlad?" Erin asked. "You were just staring."

The song had changed. Bertrand wasn't drinking anymore.

"Hm? Oh, I'm ... fine," Vlad said. "Just fine." He took a big gulp from his flask. "Warm in here, isn't it?"


	31. What If Vlad Had Always Been Female? Part 2

**S3 Ep 7 - "Bad to the Bones"**

Mira walked into the training room, looking at the still glowing Praedictum Impaver. She glanced around, before stepping towards it. About a foot away from the stand it rested on, she stopped, and took an unnecessary breath. She lifted her hand. "I'm ready," she said into the air. "Open, and reveal my destiny." Was it just her imagination, or did the glow of the Book dim just a little? Mira closed her eyes, trying her best to concentrate on the job at hand. She growled with frustration and her eyes opened, pitch black. "I command you to open!" she snapped the book. The light faded, and Mira glared. "Reveal my destiny!" she shoved her hand forward.

This time the bones that held the book together moved closer together, and though Mira kept pushing with as much power as she could, nothing happened. She let out a groan of frustration, dropping her hand to her side. "Reveal my destiny," she swung round, seeing Ingrid stalking into the room. " _Very_  powerful," she taunted her little sister. "Very compelling and ..." she deliberately glanced over at the book, "totally ineffective." She zoomed from the room, as Mira turned away.

As Ingrid left, Bertrand entered. "Ignore her," he advised. Mira glanced over her shoulder at him. His arms folded across his chest, he stepped forward. "You've got to dig deep, into the blackest part of your soul." Mira shook her head.

"What's the point?" she said, shrugging, and moving forward. "Alright," she sighed, this time one of defeat, "I can't open it." Bertrand stepped in front of her, stopping her exit. He glared, and she rolled her eyes, sighing and turning back towards the book.

"Yes you can," Mira barely heard Bertrand's mutter before she stumbled forward at his rough push. She turned, looking incredibly pissed off, and started forward. Before she could do anything, Bertrand had grabbed her by the chin. "Do you want to see you family turned to ash?" he asked, pushing her head to the side violently. Mira fought to keep control. Bertrand stepped closer again, his voice harder. "You want to hear their screams as they pay for your  _failure_?"

Bertrand reached forward, as if to grab Mira again, his fangs extended. He found his arm being twisted back, Mira's own fangs out as she was on the defensive. He snarled. "The Book won't open as it sees the cowardly  _female_  inside."

"I am  _ **not**_  a coward," Mira snarled back, twisting his arm further. The force of it was driving Bertrand down on to his knees, but still he persisted.

"It can smell the fear on you," he hissed through the pain. "The  _girl_ , frightened of the monster in the cupboard, too  _scared_  to look!" It was as though he spat the words at her, and something inside of Mira snapped. Her eyes descended once more into pitch black.

"I'll show you whose frightened," she snarled. Little did she know, at this proclaimation, one finger of the book opened.

"Let the monster out," Bertrand taunted. Mira snarled once again, using his arm to throw him over her. More fingers opened. Bertrand stumbled, and stood upright. He rushed forward, pulling out a stake. Mira didn't even need to think about it, she grabbed him by the wrist and twisted, the two scuffling over the stake. In under a moment, she was straddling Bertrand as he lay on the ground, lifting the stake high above her head. More fingers opened.

"Do it!" Bertrand snarled up, the corners of his mouth almost curled up, if Mira chose to be paying that close attention. Mira roared loudly, and brought the stake plunging down, stoping an inch before it reached Bertrand's chest. Both were panting heavily and determined on keeping eye contact. Over her shoulder, Bertrand saw the book close. "No!" he hissed.

As if she had been shocked, Mira seemed to realise her position, she jumped off of Bertrand. "I can't!" she yelled at him, chucking the stake into the far corner. "I won't let go." Slowly, Bertrand turned round to face her. When he looked up at her, Mira wondered why the action made her shudder.

"Then we'll all die," his voice was heavy, serious, and something twisted in the pit of her stomach at it. He pushed himself to a sitting position, looking away from her. "I heard you and Eoin talking, I know the truth." There was a look of barely concealed anger on his face, and Mira felt her stomch dropping. He knew, oh blood and garlic, he knew. How long did she have? How long did Eoin have? "I know your  _secret_."

Mira stared at him for a moment longer, before finally turning away. Somehow, everything felt that much worse than it had earlier.

* * *

"It could be Vladimira's true vampire side," the Count said as he strod purposefully down the corridor, Eoin at his side, Wolfie between them. "The one we've been waiting for."

"True enough to open the book?" Bertrand stood at the end, and spoke up. The Count stopped in his walk and turned, glaring.

"Well let's hope so,  _Bertrand_ ," he growled, leaning forward intimidatingly. He straightened his coat, turning away from the irritating tutor. "Our lives depend on it." Wolfie, oblivious to the tension in the hall, grinned up at the Count.

"I'm a dog!" he declared proudly. The Count stared down at the child, before rolling his eyes, turning to begin walking again, only to jump back with a start. Renfield stood before them, dressed in a horrible pink ballerina dress, and holding two puppets.

"I thought I could blow him away with my Nutcracker Suite," he explained proudly. The Count gave a shudder of horror, looking to cover his face with his hands. Behind him, Bertrand's eyes widened.

"That is disturbing on so many levels," he declared, to the silent agreement of all. The Count pushed forward, and hit the hall in his frustration.

"Come on people!" He yelled, turning back to face the group who now gathered in the hall. Eoin looked up at him from his position sitting down, and Bertrand was watching him carefully. "Think! We need a plan!" the Count instructed. Renfield looked as though he was actually thinking.

"I could pretend to be Vladimira!" The Count turned away in disgust. He didn't notice the exact same looks crossing the faces of both Eoin and Bertrand and it was to their benefit that he didn't.

"That is the worst idea I've heard in 400 years," the Count said, closing his eyes as though it would protect him from the sheer stupidity of Renfield.

"Leaving aside the fact you look  _nothing_  like her," Bertrand muttered before speaking up far more clearly. "Ramanga will spot it a mile away," Renfield looked blankly at him. Once again, Bertrand found himself wondering how it was that such a drooling druge came to work for the Dracula family. "He'll tear you to pieces."

Renfield paled. "I don't want to be Vladimira." Eoin groaned in annoyance, looking up.

"Have you got a  _better_  plan?" His voice dripped with teenage irony and it was really not helpful to the current situation. Renfield looked to be in deep thought again, and his gaze dropped down to the puppets he was carrying.

"We could make a life sized puppet of her!" He crowed happily, shaking the puppets to give his words emphasis.

The Count stilled. "That is the worst idea I've heard in 600 years," he told them. Renfield slumped. The Count turned around, and began making his way back down the hall again. "It might just work." Proud of himself, Renfield turned to beam at whoever was looking, holding up the puppets in triumph once again.

Bertrand shook his head in disbelief. This was never going to work.

* * *

Between Eoin, Renfield, and Wolfie, they had managed to gather together what was needed to build their puppet and making it convincing. Bertrand stood at the back of the kitchen, arms crossed, still in disbelief that the Count was actually going through with this plan. How the Dracula family had lasted this long, Bertrand had no idea, if this was their idea of great cunning.

The Count placed Mira's formal cloak around the skeleton body being used, and adjusted it slightly. "Right," he said, "just let him pay his respects then," he paused, adjusting the cloak again, "get rid of him." With a great sense of the theatrical, Renfield placed the newly made head on the top of the puppet. "Ah," the Count said, looking to inspect.

Bertrand stood. "I take it back," he said. "This is a great plan," he leant in, "she's so life-like." The sarcasm was clearly missed, as Eoin played with the cape a little.

"It doesn't look enough like her," he insisted. "Mira's beautiful, amazingly gorgeous," he said. The Count preened just slightly; after all, it was his genes that lead to Vladimira inheriting the Dracula good looks. Even if he had only recently began to agree she had them. "It's missing something," Eoin insisted. "It needs more ... more ..." he held his hand up, tracing in the air, the words not coming to him.

Leaning back against the stove, Bertrand eyed the puppet. "Curve," he said without much thought, finishing Eoin's sentence.

"Yeah, it needs more curve," Eoin agreed. There was a silence, as the two turned to glare at each other, realising what the other had just said. The Count's eye twitched.

"We are not here to discuss how much," he paused, "curve my daughter has. Now, someone pass me that shoe." Renfield complied, and the Count hit him over the head with it. "Thank you very much," he said, turning back to look at the puppet once more. "I feel so much better." He sighed, and was once again all about business. "Now, get this into the training room, I'll get Ramanga and meet you all there." He left

Bertrand and Eoin were made to carry the puppet through. "So, how the hell do you know about Mira's ... curves," Eoin spat at Bertrand, eyeing him suspiciously. "I'm her boyfriend, I'm meant to know!" he added in an insistent tone.

"I am her tutor in all fields," Bertrand explained calmly. "Including Defence. I would find out whether I wanted to or not." Eoin didn't seem to believe him.

"Oh yeah," he scoffed. "And I bet you were really trying not to find out." Bertrand did not sigh, but noted how much he loathed the overuse in sarcasm of this younger generation.

"Renfield," he instead said, eyes fixed on Eoin, "would you pass me that shoe?"


	32. The Coolest Bat You'll Ever Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Trey is fun

Being the Chosen One did have more downsides than anyone would ever admit to, and Vlad was very acutely aware of all of them. One of them, the one that he seemed to be most annoyed by, was the lack of actual friends. Oh, there were plenty of vampires in his (relative) age-group clamoring to spend time with him, but they wanted to spend time with Vladimir Dracula, the Chosen One. Not Vlad Count, the slight dork – if he was forced to be honest about it.

Trey Sylvania was the rare oddity who looked at how things were meant to be done, and laughed in their face. The grandson of a prominent member of the Council, Trey was an unapologetically modern vampire, and probably one of the best friends Vlad had ever accidentally stumbled on to having. (That was a story and a half, he must remember to record it somewhere, someday.) If Trey had any political ambitions himself, he didn't bother telling Vlad. Which Vlad was grateful for, to be honest, he had grown tired of people just using him for their own ends.

That was part of the reason Trey came to visit.

"So, I am here to teach you how to be the best damn bite you can be," he announced grandly, swaggering into the throne room and draping himself across a seat. Vlad glared. "What? You know you want to be this cool."

"I am not wearing sunglasses," Vlad retorted. Trey rolled his eyes.

"Well, obviously not," he sniffed. "You are not cool enough to pull these off."

"They're pink and shaped like bats."

"Clearly the coolest things ever."


	33. Remembered Your Name

Hey Erin, I remember your name. Left some flowers on your grave today. Tidied it up while I was there, you wouldn't believe the moss that grows between visits. Didn't come for much, just thought you might like to talk. Well, I'll talk you listen, but then you were always good at that weren't you?

I can't really live with myself. I know I made a choice, but it was the wrong one. You know I'd do it different, if I had the time again, right? My therapist says I need to accept I'm not all powerful, that I need to live with the choices I make. Doesn't know I'm a vampire obviously, but... they're wrong. I could have done so many things. 3 point 3 seconds is a long time for a vampire.

S'why I'm here, actually. They, uh, said it would be good closure if I visited the grave. If I said your name.

I remembered your birthday.

It's been about 50 years.

… But I remembered your name.


	34. Hell Hath No Fury

Vlad never saw the punch coming. His hands flung to his nose as his eyes squeezed together in pain

" _Ow_!" he yelled. "What the –"

"It's simple really," Robin Branagh stepped forward. "Every time you're a dick, or … be a creepy Cullen, I punch you." Vlad glared

"I can't believe Jonno got the Guild to undo the mind-wipe." Robin snorted.

"About time too. Stuff you've been pulling lately?" He snorted once more, before flinging an arm around him. "Never mind. Life'll be worth living again. I'm back."


	35. Meeting Myself

"Zoning?" Chronicles Vlad, hereafter referred to as C!V glanced over at his canon self with a air of self-hated. "Seriously? You can pull off the crystal thing from Superman, and suddenly it's called zoning."

"What do you care?" Canon Vlad - simply called Vlad - retorted to the older self. Being a fictional character made for some interesting moments when you met alternative versions of yourself. C!V was a pest.

"I don't," he answered with a shrug, "but last time you were acting like me. And, well, here's the thing, Canon," C!V pulled out and lit a cigarette, taking a long drag from it. "I know I'm a self-serving dick whose so far removed from what we were it's kind of hard to see the joining stitches," he blew out the smoke and flicked some ash away. "But I know why that happened. See, I was in a place where I saw some fucked up stuff," he shrugged, "done some fucked up stuff too. But you... You're the pampered little Princeling."

"Flap off," Vlad scowled. "Erin hates me now."

"Big deal?" C!V shrugged. "She was annoying anyway." He took another drag of the cigarette. "Just saying, Canon, you might wanna watch which of us you're turning into."

"Why?"

"Because that little peace treaty didn't work so well for me."


	36. How It Could Have Gone

There is a theory of multiple worlds, multiple realities. They diverge at certain points from our own world, the realities changing by the simple twist of a decision. In many of these worlds, Vladimir Dracula is the Chosen One. In many of these worlds, he slayed Bertrand du Fortunesa without a second thought. In one notable world, the stake was turned on him, ending his terrifying reign before it have the proper chance to begin. And in one world, he was stopped.

"Vlad, I've got the proof." Bertrand's smile was wide, and it threw Vlad. The stake remained held tight in his hands. Bertrand spotted it, and stopped, standing beside Erin. "Vlad..." he said.

"Vlad, no!" Erin cried, looking to grab the stake herself to stop him. Vlad threw her off, but turned the stake round, blunt edge pointing towards Bertrand.

"What do you mean proof?"

"...Of the shape shifter," Bertrand's eyes didn't move from the stake. "The air around her, it's Elizabetha, it ripples," he stepped forward, hand held out for the stake. "Let me show you."

Vlad breathed heavily, and placed the stake down in Bertrand's hand.

"This had better be worth it," he growled.


	37. A New Ending

It wasn't until Elizabetha was taunting him with his face that Vlad was really aware of what he'd lost. She had kept his face for last, knowing it would cause the most pain and it did. Vlad had never felt pain like it. It burned at the pit of his stomach and made him feel as though someone was trying to force feed him garlic. It hurt, so very much. But it brought something with it. A clarity. A clear plan inside his mind that he'd never thought on before and wondered why it hadn't occurred to him.

He didn't tell his Dad or his sister, they'd only try to advise him against it. Well, Ingrid would, and knowing her luck when it came to advising him, she'd be right. But the sick feeling in his stomach wouldn't be quelled until he at least tried the plan, at least tried to put things right. It took longer than he remembered, but he could remember how to do it. That was the important thing.

He was sitting on his own in the throne room when the door open. He turned his head and smiled.

"Nice to see you back."

Bertrand smirked

"Took you long enough."


	38. Dreamed a Dream

He hadn't made it better. It had been centuries and he hadn't been able to make it any better. He had always intended to go back, and make it right, but he couldn't, and now all he could feel was pain in his chest. He was old. Older than he ought to be. Older than he deserved to be. He was infamous, peace was achieved after many long centuries and his name would ring throughout the rest of history, recorded forever. Vladimir Dracula, Chosen One and Saviour of Vampire Kind. But he didn't care for it, not any of it.

His dreams haunted him, showing him how it could be, showing him a reality that he wanted. He was alive, they were together, and everything was right. Things had gone right, better, faster, he had made it happen the way it was meant to go. He forgave him, and Vlad could still see the smile before he drove the stake into his chest. His ashes were kept in an urn on his desk.

He was the Chosen One. He could do anything.

Just not the one thing he dreamed of.


	39. [Chronicles] Scars

Bertrand had been told many things about the Grand High Vampire. He had been told that the man was ruthless, that he had sharpened his fangs in the bloodiest of battles and that he had come out with barely a scratch on him. Bertrand had always wondered how much of it was true.

"And this scar?" It felt deliciously dangerous, trailing a finger along the Grand High Vampire's bare side, looking at the silvery white healed skin that marked the scar he was tracing. Vlad watched Bertrand's hands through heavy lidded eyes, his voice was low and sleepy when he spoke.

"Werewolf," he said, and Bertrand could feel the rumble in his chest. "Caught me while I was sleeping in a crypt," he added. "Had a bit too much to drink and it slowed my reactions." Bertrand nodded, tracing the scar one more with his finger. Vlad hissed lightly, and then he was flipped, leaning over Bertrand with a decadent smirk.

"Your turn," he whispered. "Show me your scars, tutor man."


	40. Sleep

"Vlad?" Robin's voice was soft in the room, as though raising it any louder would wake the dead. This was a very apt metaphor, considering to whom he was speaking. It was little over a week to go until Vlad's 16th birthday, and he had conceded to his father's wishes on a few aspects of a vampiric lifestyle, such as sleeping in a coffin during the day, largely as they were surprisingly more comfortable than he had given them credit for.

"Wassat?" Vlad answered back sleepily, turning slightly against the soft fabric. Why was it Robin always had to come and interrupt his sleep? It had been a long day at school, and the sun had been unbearably bright, and made his eyes sting. All Vlad wanted to do was sleep. His hand clutched at the pillow he had placed under his head, folding into a loose fist as he buried his head in it. Robin called his name again, but Vlad ignored him, falling into a deep sleep.

"Vlad, you do realise you're in my bed, don't you?" Robin's voice went unheard. He sighed. It had been the same for the past few weeks, according to the Count it was simply signified how powerful Vlad was. Of course, the Count would have always said that, but Ingrid confirmed it, however grudging her confirmation was. It was weird to look at Vlad when he was sleeping, mostly as he did look dead, and that – for some reason – spent an unpleasant tingle down Robin's spine. Undead was one thing, but Robin didn't like to think that Vlad might be dead.

He stared down at his friend, his hand moving to brush some stray strands of hair of Vlad's eyes. He really did look very young, the luck of a vampire, Robin supposed. He considered Vlad. For a wimp, he wasn't half bad looking. Nowhere near as fit as himself, obviously, but Vlad did have traces of the Dracula looks in him. It was just, well; Robin never noticed it under the obnoxiously loud clothing, and general wimpy attitude.

Actually, that was a lie. He did notice. He noticed a lot, he just didn't want to admit to noticing. The nearer it got to Vlad's 16th, the harder Robin found keeping his secret, but the easier he found it as well. An odd paradox, but it was truly how he felt about the situation. Vlad lay still on the bed, he never did move when sleeping, and Robin looked down at him for a few minutes longer, before looking around himself nervously. When he was sure that no one was looking, he inclined his head, leaning down to kiss Vlad.

Kissing a vampire was a very ... cold experience, but it was nice. Just a pity it was only one sided. Robin sighed.

"Now, let's see if I can do that when you're awake, and we might get somewhere."


	41. [Mira] That Other Time..

Eoin and Mira's date could never actually be called dates, well, not properly at any rate. Mira may have been a bit of a dating novice – she can remember the failed Valentine's Ball date with Derek with a churning in her stomach – but she's fairly certain dates require leaving the area in which you are staying. If someone asked her anyway. Then again, it wasn't exactly a normal situation they were in, and there wasn't much option in town after sunset before they were both 18. It didn't help matters either that her Dad didn't like Eoin at all, and much preferred him being out of his sight. Really, that's the only reason they always seemed to end up in her room.

Well, that and it was a bit better in size and furnishing terms than Eoin's, but he never made comment on it. "You're really beautiful, Mira," he would tell her with a shy smile, ducking his head and letting some of that blonde hair fall into his eyes. "And so nice," he would add, clutching her hand with a reassuring squeeze. He wasn't like the other boys, just falling for her because of the vampire pheromones. "I'm one of the rare 2% unaffected," he would declare proudly, before kissing her softly on her lips. "I'm just … this is just about you, you know that, right?"

"I know, Eoin," she would reply, a soft smile on her own face, ducking her own head and tucking some hair behind her ear. "I'm really glad I met you," she would assure him, leaning in to give him a chaste peck on the lips. It was a comfortable pattern, she supposed, and it was nice. Gradually, little by little, it started to grow. They would move from the chaste kisses and hand holding to longer kisses, hands resting on each other's cheeks and shoulders.

After the incident with Mira forgetting her strength after Eoin broke her bra, she had wondered if that was it. If whatever they had – somehow the word 'boyfriend' didn't feel quite right but she used it because it made Eoin beam and he did have a lovely smile – was somehow over. She felt sad at the prospect, but maybe not as sad as she should? How did you know how much sadness was acceptable in this type of situation? What did you measure it by. The knock came on her door like always.

"I brought you these," Eoin handed over a small bouquet of freshly picked flowers. Mira took the flowers, sniffing at them lightly. "I, uh, listen, about last time," he began, rubbing awkwardly at his neck. "I just I wanted to apologise," he nodded. "I was going too fast and I should have realised that and …"

"Eoin, it's okay," Mira stopped him mid-ramble. "I understand. I want to apologise too, for … forgetting my strength." She ducked her head again, and were she able to blush that would be what she would be doing right at that moment. Eoin gave a soft laugh, and petted her head. She looked up, and smiled. "You ... wanna come in?"

"That'd be great," Eoin smiled widely.

Somehow, they ended back up in the position of fooling around, and Mira wasn't entirely sure as to how they got there. She could remember sitting and beginning to discuss the Maths coursework, and then there was kissing, and then she was lying on her back and Eoin was lifting off her top with less speed than he had ever used before. Clearly, he was trying to prove that he had learnt his lesson. "Gods, Mira," he breathed, looking at her with wide eyes, "you really are beautiful."

"Eoin..." she replied. However she had said it, it seemed to spur him on. He pulled off his own shirt, tossing it to the side, as he pressed down on top of her, kissing at her neck. Mira sighed, and shifted just slightly, trying to get comfortable under his weight. Somehow, he seemed heavier today than he had before, and her usual careful shifting didn't seem to be helping the situation at all. If anything, and she didn't understand the why of this, it seemed to be encouraging him on, judging by the small moan he issued, continuing his wet kisses to her neck.

"Eoin," she muttered again, shifting once more. There seemed to be something poking into her thigh, and it was getting irritating. "Eoin," she said again, hoping to draw his attention to it. That seemed to be a false hope, as he began moving very oddly against her. "Eoin what are you -"

"Oh … hell," Eoin moved back quickly, pulling at his trousers to move the wet patch away from his skin. Mira wasn't so lucky, and silently cursed wearing her skirt without tights. "Mira, I'm ... so sorry, that's never happened to me before," Eoin gabbled her, his face pulled down by embarrassment. "Honestly, it was just... I didn't mean to..."

"It's fine, Eoin," Mira said. It didn't seem to help.

Later on, when he'd left the room, Mira sighed. They really didn't seem to have any luck, her and Eoin. Wonder if there was a reason for that?


End file.
